


The Time In-between.

by withoutwords



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Getting Together, M/M, Non-Graphic Descriptions of Nightmares, Slowish build, Some Elements Of PTSD, Some hurt/comfort, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:38:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwords/pseuds/withoutwords
Summary: In the wake of Steve's near-death, Danny's having trouble fighting off bad dreams. Post 6x25.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a random one to cure my post-season ails. It disregards season 7 thus far, as I haven’t actually seen any of it. Please take note that this features elements of PTSD and bad dreams - which are mentioned a lot but not described in any graphic detail. I did not want to romanticise that, but as Danny relies on Steve’s support I feel like there is a lot of focus on their relationship more than anything else. Thanks a lot for reading x

Steve’s wearing a Navy shirt when he opens the door, blue and crumpled and mocking. It sets Danny’s teeth even further on edge, which is a feat in itself, and he rolls his eyes as he shoulders past Steve and into the house.

“Uh,” Steve starts, still standing by the open door. “Danny.”

“If the next words out of your mouth are  _ it’s five o’clock in the morning  _ I will literally punch you in the face,” Danny tells him matter of factly as he continues through to the kitchen, looking for the coffee and a cup. Preferably one that’s as big as his face.

He potters around in there for a while before Steve even follows, giving him time to slow the shaking of his hands, even out the short little shots of his breathing. He’d gotten here on autopilot, truthfully, so part of Danny is just as shocked as Steve that he came.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks gently as he pads, barefoot, into the room. He keeps his distance, lounging over by the fridge and watching Danny’s slowing movements; as if Danny is a horse he doesn’t want to spook. (He’s been acting this way for a while now, since they’d had their massive blow out, since Danny had bellowed at him,  _ you haven’t even thanked me, Steve, you haven’t even - _

_ Thank you, _ Steve had finally said, and Danny had never seen him mean anything more.  _ Thank you for saving me. _ )

“Nothing.”

“It sure seems like nothing.”

Danny throws a spoon down with a loud clatter, shooting a look at Steve. He looks warm, soft, like maybe Danny could reach out and he wouldn’t even flinch from it. “Steven. While I’m sure your attempts to psychoanalyse me are well intentioned, I’m not in the mood to hear it. Do you want one of these or are you going to go back to bed?”

Steve keeps looking at Danny for a moment, as if it might persuade him to talk. Danny just glares right back. “I’m going to go for a swim,” he says at last, and then he’s peeling off his shirt and heading out the back.

Danny holds himself up against the counter and lets out a shuddering breath.

“Fuck,” he mutters into the quiet, and yet somehow still feels better.

*

It happens again later the following week. It’s been quiet, crime-wise, Danny finally clearing out the last of the paperwork and the others finding flimsy excuses to get outside. At work, the inaction doesn’t bother him - at home it’s another story. He can’t sleep, and he can’t sit still, and he can’t do anything that makes any sense except grab his keys and get out.

This time Steve only answers the door in sweatpants.

“You’re talking to someone, right?” Steve asks later while Danny is making them eggs. “You told me you - ”

“Yeah, I’m,” Danny starts to say, but just sighs and gives Steve a tight smile. “Yes.”

“Alright. But if you - ”

“I know. We give each other the  _ I’m here for you _ speech a lot, babe, you don’t need to tell me it again.”

Danny can hear how much of an asshole he’s being, he just doesn’t have the energy to care. If getting to Steve’s before the sun’s up has somehow become his new normal, he’ll take it. Next to being shot at, being kidnapped or being put in jail - early mornings is a welcome change.

“Thank you,” Danny says softly when Steve passes him the salt.

They both know what he’s thankful for.

*

The fifth time it happens Steve says,

“You have a key, Danny,” as if Danny had forgotten. “Use it.”

Danny used to use it all the time. To grab something Steve had forgotten, or to steal some milk on his way home, or to sit and watch a game when Steve was out of town because his whole setup was a thousand times better than anything Danny could afford. It hadn’t meant anything for a long time, but now.

Now he’ll rub it between his thumb and finger, sometimes. Just to feel it go hot.

“Hey,” Steve says when he comes through one morning, rubbing at his eyes. Danny’s got coffee, and the paper, and a text from Kono about her and Chin checking out a lead on Sand Island,  _ get back to you if we hear anything, boss. _ “You wanna come for a swim?”

Danny almost chokes on his coffee. “That’s funny.”

“I’m not being funny. I’m asking you. Do you want to come for a swim?”

“You know how I feel about the water.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and it’s so bitter it claws at Danny’s throat. Steve looks at him through hooded eyes, like Danny’s not the only one who’s been losing sleep. “I know how you feel about a lot of things.”

Danny watches him head out, and watches the door, and watches the sun where it catches the dust in the air. He watches just long enough to talk himself into it, before he’s peeling off his t-shirt and going outside. (Steve’s pants are abandoned half way down to the beach, and it makes Danny scoff.)

“I’ll set an easy pace,” Steve says when Danny wades out to meet him, a crooked little grin. “Just follow my lead, okay?”

Danny’s been doing that for more than six years. It’s gotten him this far. “Okay.”

*   


Danny keeps showing up and Steve keeps his mouth shut and they seem to have a symbiotic thing going, an understanding. Until one morning Danny brings Charlie as well.

Danny settles him into the sofa, covers him with a throw rug, and slumps onto the coffee table just to watch him sleep. He’s so  _ mad _ \- at himself, at Steve, at this godforsaken job - he can feel it grating at his bones. He’s  _ hurting _ .

“Seriously?” Steve hisses at Danny when he comes down the stairs. Danny’s not sure why Steve had insisted on him using the key, he always woke up anyway.

“I know,” Danny hisses right back, motioning for Steve to following him into the kitchen.    
“I fucking know, alright, so don’t start with me.”

“No, you know what?” Steve says, grabbing at Danny’s shoulder and pointing a finger in his face. “I  _ will _ start with you. I’ve let it go for a while now, Danny, but this is just too much.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to inconvenience you!”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Steve snaps, but he lets go and his expression softens and he suddenly looks ten years older. “What’s going on?”

“I just.” Danny stops and throws a look over his shoulder. He  can’t see Charlie from where he is, but he knows his son’s a light sleeper. Without a word to Steve, he heads out onto the lanai, and jams his hands into his pockets, and braces himself for the things he’s about to admit.

“I just can’t be on my own at the moment, alright? I can’t…”

“You’re never on your own,” Steve assures him. “You have us, you have the kids - ”

“That’s not - I’m not talking about - ”

“What? Is it the house? If you can't be at the house any more I don’t see why you can’t just - ”

“It’s not the goddamn house, it’s  _ you _ ,” Danny snaps, throwing an arm out. “I need to be near  _ you _ .”

Hearing Steve’s silence is almost as hard has saying the words. He looks blindsided, like he did the first day when Danny punched him in the mouth. “What do you mean?”

“I mean - I’m having bad dreams. Anxiety. I have for a while now.”

“About the crash?”

“About the crash?” Danny repeats, a squinting rage. “No, Steven, not about the crash. About you telling me you were going to die. About watching you bleed out. About almost shooting an unarmed man in the head because I was so angry, and so scared, I thought I was going to lose you, are you fucking kidding me the crash, I…”

“Hey, Danny, hey,”

“Don’t - don’t fucking -” Danny backs off from his touch enough to slump onto one of the deck chairs, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “I can’t do this right now.”

Danny expects Steve to walk away. To create space. But he supposes that’s unfair when Danny keeps imposing himself. When in some roundabout way Danny’s been asking for this. Nearness. Closeness. Affirmation.

“Danny,” is all Steve says, but he’s got a hand on Danny’s shoulder and he doesn’t let go for a long time.

*   


It happens again one morning before it’s even hit three, and even Danny knows he’s pushing it now. He’s losing breaths, and his brain keeps telling him his scar hurts, and he keeps seeing black and red and black and red until he has to get up.

He paces for a while, and tries to make coffee, and tries to tell himself a lot of things he doesn’t want to hear. It takes seven attempts to finally press the call button on his phone, and when he does he’s hunched at the end of his bed.

Steve picks up on the second ring.

“Danny?”

“Hi.”

“What’s-” he starts to say, gruff, then realises his mistake. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Danny chuckles humorlessly. “Outside of possibly losing my mind, everything’s just grand, babe. And you? Were you enjoying that sleep before your pathetic excuse for a partner decided to interrupt you?”

“Don’t.”

“God, I’m stupid.”

“You’re not. You’re not Danny you hear me? If this helps you get through it then it’s fine.”

Danny wants to believe that this his helping. That his therapist, and his Mom, hell even  _ Rachel, _ are throwing words around that he doesn’t really need. He’s not sure he wants any definition further than, I keep dreaming your dead and knowing you're alive makes the thoughts go away. Why can’t it just be that simple?

“Did I tell you about Nahele’s new business venture?” Steve says into the void, and Danny can hear his soft grin.

“A business venture? He’s been spending too much time with Kamekona.”

“Right?”

Danny slumps back onto the bed and lets Steve’s voice wash over him.

*   


When Danny moved to Hawaii he had Grace - and by extension, Rachel - and he had his landlady and he had the guy on the corner selling papers, Akoni, who said  _ haole _ the same way Danny said  _ Springsteen _ . It branched a little, with Meka, and Amy, and a few other guys in the precinct. But that was it.

That was all. Another reason to hate leaving Jersey.

In Jersey there were aunts, uncles, cousins. There were friends, and best friends, and colleagues, and acquaintances. There were shopkeepers, and cab drivers, and the same kids getting pulled into his office over and over again just so he could slap them on the wrist and tell them to do better. There was familiarity.

It’s taken years - it’s taken Steve McGarrett and his  _ we’re gonna get along great _ but Danny’s back in that place now. He’s come full circle. If he had to leave tomorrow, he’d be leaving his whole world behind.

“I should head out,” Danny mutters to Steve, where they’re crowded together on the sofa. Lou and Chin are going head to head on one of Steve’s game consoles, while Kono, Adam, Nahele and Abby all sit watching. Grace and Samantha are somewhere outside, Charlie’s sacked out on one of Steve’s big chairs, and Jerry had said something about finding some food.

Danny’s warm.

“What for?” Steve asks, letting out a scoffing laugh as he watches Lou try to work out the controllers. He’s got an arm around Danny’s shoulder, and a knee dug into Danny’s thigh. Danny can still smell the sea water clinging to his skin.

“I’ve got the kids.”

“They can take the spare.”

“So I can sleep on the sofa? You want to listen to me complain about my sore back all day tomorrow, do you? ”

Steve shrugs, peering over to Danny with his chin up. “You could come share mine.”

Danny blinks. Hard. They’ve never been that bothered by personal space - unless it came with awkward declarations - so it’s not so much of a stretch. But Danny feels the invitation with heat at his neck, his face. “What?”

“It’s a big bed. And I’ve been told I’m a good blanket sharer.”

“Steve - ”

“Danny,” Steve interrupts, and he smiles and it’s slightly mocking. “It’s not rocket science. Everything you need is here, anyway, and this way if you have a bad dream you won’t - ”

“Alright,” Danny cuts him off, shooting a look at the others. They’re not paying them any attention. Kono’s hollering at the television. “Alright. Thanks.”

*

Danny doesn’t wake from a bad dream, the next morning. It’s still early though, still dark outside save the moon; still dark in the room save the sliver of light under the door that they’d kept on for Charlie. Danny turns around to face Steve, where he’s sleeping on his back. He has an arm up over his head, the muscles of his shoulders and chest and belly stretching.

Danny watches the up-down movements of his breaths.

It takes a while for his eyes to adjust properly, for his gaze to catch on the pink, raised skin of Steve’s scar. He doesn’t think twice about reaching out to touch it, feather like grazes of his fingertips tracing the lines. It’s not so different to Danny’s, except bigger maybe - and that’s just like Steve, always one upping him.

“Okay?” Steve says in a grumbling voice, stretching out and startling Danny. He keeps his eyes closed, but he curls up a little and turn onto his side. Turns enough that they’re face to face.

“Uh, yeah, sorry.”

“It’s okay. Bad dream?”

“No. I’m good.”

Danny watches Steve eyes flutter open, adjusting to the room. He gives Danny a gentle smile, his hair all mussed and his cheeks a little pink. Danny suddenly feels amazed. “Does it ever hurt?” he asks, to cover. “Sometimes I feel like mine hurts, but the doc reckons I’m just imagining it. Like a phantom pain or something, he said.”

“It doesn’t hurt.” They lie there and look at each other a little longer, and it’s intimate, Danny knows, it’s territory they’ve circled all these years but never marked. “You know why it took me so long to say thank you?”

Danny’s surprised by the question but allows a small laugh. “Because you hated the thought of me gloating to everyone that we know that the SuperSEAL had to be saved by a flat foot cop from New Jersey who doesn’t like pineapple on pizza?”

“Close,” Steve says jokingly, huffing. “No, because I was mad, man. I was really mad at you.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“All I could think about was your kids being scared for you, and the team losing both of us, and how I wasn’t worth that. I wasn’t worth your life.”

“Jesus. And if it had been me lying there? If the decision had been yours to make?”

“That’s different though, isn’t it? Grace, Charlie - ”

“You think you're any less valued because you’re not a dad? Come on, man, that’s,” Danny turns onto his back, to stare at the ceiling instead. “You had this place wall to wall with your  _ family _ last night. You saw them all at the hospital, at your bedside - you think their love for you can somehow be trumped by my kids love for me?”

“I guess I do.”

“I hate that so much.”

“Danny.”

“You think I’m losing sleep over you because I saved your life? No, Steve - because I  _ nearly didn’t _ . Because someone almost took that choice out of my hands, the same way they did for Matt. For Meka.”

“I know.”

“Obviously you don’t know. I -  _ we love you _ . All of us. And there’s nothing we wouldn’t do to keep you here and keep you alive. Alright? You hear me?”

“Okay, man. Alright.” Steve reaches out a hand to grasp tightly at Danny’s forearm. “Thank you.”

*

The next time it happens Danny lets himself in and heads straight upstairs to Steve’s room, kicking his shoes off as he goes. He gets in under the sheets, and curls in close to Steve, and doesn't say anything to Steve’s confused, grumbling, “Danny?” except to reach out and rest a hand on Steve’s chest.

It goes on.

Danny spends most night at his, but some nights at Steve’s, and it’s not something they spend a lot of time talking about. Danny knows Steve’s the one making sacrifices here. That if he’d wanted to bring a woman back - hell anyone back - he would have to consider Danny first. He’d probably have to consider a lot of things.

Danny’s too selfish to care.

“You ever had bad dreams?” Danny asks one night as they’re going to sleep. They’d had Chin and Lou here earlier, and they’d had a few beers. Danny was still buzzing a little, his guards were down. “Ones that wake you up and you can’t get back to sleep, after?”

“Sure.”

“Does it take a while to get over them?”

Steve sighs, turning to curl his pillow further into his chest. He rubs at an eye. “Yeah, man. I’m not sure you do, completely.”

“That’s what I hear,” Danny says lowly, and Steve fixes him with a look. He’s been doing that more and more lately, being all knowing. He’s always had a good idea about what Danny was feeling but lately - it just seems like it’s shifting. It feels like it did with Rachel.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Steve says.

“I know,” Danny says honestly. “I’m not. I’d just like to move on now, you know.”

Steve reaches out to find Danny’s hand and their fingers curl together against the mattress. “I got this big scar on my chest,” he says, apropos of nothing. Danny frowns.

“I know.”

“Yeah, well. One day that’ll heal too.”

Danny huffs a little, but he knows Steve’s right. He knows what he means to say.

“I like your scar,” he tells Steve and Steve grins, and squeezes his hand.

“I like you.”

*

Danny expects it to happen late at night, with the sheets twisted around them, with Steve’s bare skin warm under his hands. He expects it to be slow, and gasping, like the waves along the beach at night; with panting curses and whispered oaths and so much heat he can’t stand it. Danny expect it to be Steve, all over - like a perfect, strategical op. Every movement flawless.

It’s none of those things.

It’s eleven thirty, and it’s a slow work day, and Danny ducks in to grab a donut while Steve moves around to get a mug. They bump heads and laugh, and brush noses and cough, and when they lean in for a kiss it’s biting and sour.

“Can I try that again?”

“God, you were  _ trying _ ?” Danny mocks, and then Steve pulls him in by his collar to kiss him with an open mouth.

And it is flawless, really, in its own way.

*

“Danny, Danny,” Steve’s whispering into his ear one night, shaking at his shoulder gently. “Wake up, man, I’m here.”

Danny can’t remember what he was dreaming, but he curls into Steve, on instinct, ducking his head into the hollow of Steve’s throat.

“Thank you,” he mutters, clawing at his back, at his hair, pressing his open mouth to Steve’s pulse point.

_ Thank you,  _ and there’s so many reasons he’s thankful for this, right here and right now.

There’s so many reasons he’s thankful for Steve. (Who’s always helped him chase the bad stuff away.)

He sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr.](http://thefancyspin.tumblr.com)


End file.
